
Book_£ASXlk_ 



COPyRIGlIT DEPOSIT. 



HELDERBERG HARMONIES 




THE TORY SPY'S CAVE 



J'rontisl^icrc 



Helderberg Harmonies 



BY 



MAGDALENE MERRITT 

Author of "Songs of the Helderberg," etc. 



Edited by 

M. G. KAINS 

Associate Editor of American Agriculturist 




Voorheesville, N. Y. 

M. MERRITT 

1909 






Copyright, 1909, by 
MAGDALENE MERRITT 



SCHLUETEK PRINTING COMfA 
NEW YORK 



cu:^ 5 3 4 1*0 



To 

Lovers of the 

Helderberg 



PREFACE 

OHE real feeling of all who with each new morning 
have instinctively turned their eyes toward the 
Helderberg — ever the same, serene, smiling, friendly 
mountain — finds best expression in the words of a friend 
of mine, a noble woman, who said, "I want always to 
live within sight of the Helderberg." 

It is perhaps no more than natural that I, as a child 
of the valley, who played among the lights and shadows 
and fed upon the history and tradition of the mountain, 
should desire to share these feelings with a wider au- 
dience than my voice can reach. So I have selected such 
of my poems as I believe best breathe the spirit of the 
hill country, and here present them in permanent form. 

To Mr. Simon Winne, of Indian Ladder, I am in- 
debted for facts regarding "The Tory Spy," and so am 
able to present a picture of the entrance to the actual 
cave in which this man took refuge from the Revolu- 
tionary soldiers. From my own family history I have 
drawn the character of The Sheriff, who was Christo- 
pher Batterman, my father's brother-in-law. In some 
minor details the story differs from accounts given in 



histories and books of reference; but whether these are 
due to tradition or to actual errors, I have been unable 
to determine. (See Patroon, Anti-Rentism, Van Rens- 
selaer in encyclopedias.) 

Through the kind courtesy of the Springfield Repub- 
lican, The American Agriculturist, Christian Work and 
Evangelist, and other newspapers and periodicals, I am 
permitted to reprint some of the shorter poems which 
have appeared in their columns. From my former vol- 
ume, "Songs of the Helderberg," long since out of print, 
I have reprinted "Nature's Voices," "The Hound," and 
"The Butterfly." 

Thanks to Mr. Clayton Le Gallez, the landscape 
photographer of Albany, N. Y., I am permitted to pre- 
sent the half-tone views of some of the most interesting 

parts of the mountain. 

M. M. 

VOORHEESVILLE, N. Y. 

December i, 1909. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Fair Helderberg 13 

Child's Prayer 14 

The Hound 15 

Morning in Summer 16 

Listening Still 17 

Helderberg Scenery 18 

To A Song Sparrow 22 

The Husking Bee 24 

I Lift My Heart to Thee 25 

Through Stormy Days 26 

Nature's Voices 2^ 

The Sawbuck 28 

The Tory Spy 29 

A Wise Plan 36 

An Old-fashioned Garden 37 

Little One 38 

Echo 39 

In the Hollow of His Hand 40 

Not I 41 

Memories 42 

For Thy Care 43 

Springtime 44 

My Riches 47 

Why? 48 

The Sheriff 49 



PAGE 

TheRedbird 59 

Friendship 60 

The Butterfly 61 

When I Awake 62 

Solitude 63 

The Bird 64 

The Path 65 

To A Goldfinch in February 66 

The Woman Who Wears a Smile 69 

The Assessor 70 

When? 72 

My Neighbors 73 

The Oriole 'jy 

The Forehead of the Hill 79 

The Woods 80 

Cheerful Lamps . 87 

A Fitting Name 89 

Signs of Rain 90 

A Song of Gladness 91 

Old Friends Grow Dear 92 

Larkspur 93 

Daily Bread 94 

My Garden's Guest 95 

Wealth 96 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 



The Tory Spy's Cave Frontispiece 

Helderberg Mountains 16- 

Bear Path Near Rainbow Falls . . 24- 

The Battlements and Indian Ladder Road 32 ^ 

The Summit of Indian Ladder Road 40 - 

Rainbow Falls in Winter 56 - 

Bear Path on the Face of the Cliff 64 "^ 

The Neighbors' Houses 72 "-" 




FAIR HELDERBERG 

/^ MOUNTAIN fair, blue line against the sky! 

^^^ Thy wooded steeps, thy cool secluded trails, 
Thy dells, thy caves, and laughing waterfalls. 
All rainbow-haloed in the mellow light — 
How fondly turn thy loyal sons to thee 
With pure delight to greet thy sylvan joys! 
How tranquil are thy breathing solitudes 
Among the chaos of thy constant rocks. 
Dropped from the beetling battlements above. 
Or nature-hewn by ever-toiling force! 
From age to age these ancient stones proclaim 
In fossil forms through ages speaking yet 
A life that was, enduring through thee still. 

The sea, fair hill, that hid thee from the sight 
With troubled waves, but deathless witness left ! 
Ah, time hath healed and hid thy early wounds. 
And docile peace broods gently on thee now. 
No more, no more a direful flood may wreck 
Thy sunny wooded slopes, thy mighty cliffs! 
For thee, O mountain, gentler hands may twine 
A fairer garland for thy noble brow, 
A crowning sky of crimson and of gold. 

13 



In calm, in storm, or 'neath the galaxy. 
No purple pomp nor pageantry of man. 
Nor trumpet voice proclaims thy majesty! 
More grand the hallowed silence of thy crest 
Than aught that human splendor e'er essayed! 
Though floods may rend, and summer's heat may sear, 
Though autumn gay transmute thy green to gold. 
Though winter wrap thee in his arctic robe, 
In memory thou'rt clad in ever-verdant spring. 

And so, All hail. Fair Helderberg, All hail! 
Thou livest in the hearts of all thy sons, 
Unchanged by time, by tide, by tempest rude, 
Embosomed deep in fondest memory 
And held in everlasting joy and love. 



CHILD'S PRAYER 

1^ ow I lay me down to sleep, 

'^^ I know Thou, Lord, Thy watch wilt keep 

All through the dark and dreary night, 

And when shall break the morning light 

I pray Thee, Lord, that I may wake 

To serve Thee still for Thy dear sake. 



14 



THE HOUND 

T^ark! hear the sound of the baying hound! 
^ ' Along the round of the mountain ; 
The echo calls, then it falls and falls 

Like the water of a fountain. 
Oh, mournfully sad and strange and deep 
The voice of the hound along the steep. 

The bare cliffs rise till they touch the skies 
With the thin white mists upon them ; 

And cedar-trees in the morning breeze 
Wave spectral-like adown them, 

Oh, hear it from out the woods again, 

The cry that echoes from hill to plain. 

The white clouds float like a phantom boat 

Till farther and farther going; 
Toward the sky they airily fly 

In the west wind gently blowing. 
And clearer the hound's deep bay rolls down 
While from crag to crag the echoes bound. 



15 



MORNING IN SUMMER 

>OloFT shines the light on the gray dewy meadows, 
•^^^^ Sweet blows the breeze at the breaking of 

morn, 
Faintly away fly the last of night's shadows, 
Earth welcomes gladly a day newly born. 

Slowly the rays of the sunlight are streaming. 
Sparkling like jewels the dew on the flowers, 

Far on the mountain its glory is beaming, 

Matchless in beauty with morn's golden hours. 

Mists from the valley arise like a billow. 
Airy white ghosts mid the tops of the trees, 

Hiding the brook and the shadowy willow. 
Wafting away on the breath of the breeze. 

Rapturous notes floating in from the woodland. 
Red bird and robin and chattering wren, 

Joyfully back from the fair sunny Southland, 
Thrilling the woods with their voices again. 

There on the hilltop, the field, in the bramble, 
Myriad numbers of free, joyful things. 

Care-free and happily each one may ramble. 
Insect that creepeth, and wild bird that sings. 
16 



Gaily the creatures are risen and moving, 
Bee on the blossom and hare in the wood, 

Feeble their labor but cheerfully proving. 
Life is a seed-time and harvest of good. 

Never can artist paint fair morning's shining, 
Never can singer voice more than a part. 

All of their best can but leave the heart pining, 
Yearning and striving to reach nature's heart. 

Fair is the earth as the blessed Eternal, 

Faint are its far gleams revealed in the light, 

Joyous the heavenly, truly supernal 

Touches the world in the radiance bright. 



LISTENING STILL 

Though oft I wander in the woods 

By day and after dark, 
I never yet have caught the sound 

Of any dogwood's bark. 

—M. G. K. 



17 



HELDERBERG SCENERY 

TrtHAT! Nebo's lonely heights by Moses scaled 
^^ Reveal a prospect of the promised land 
More exquisite than this! 

Nay! All God's earth 
Is ripe with promise — full fruition ! Here 
On Helderberg's deep-seamed and thoughtful brow, 
Which aeons long has faced the elements, 
We stand in breathless transport at the view. 

Unveiled through misty distance, dark and blue, 
The Adirondacks rear their sturdy heights, 
Yet higher still, and grander to the eye 
Vermont's Green Mountains pierce the fleecy clouds 
And scratch the yielding azure with their spikes, 
While far against the pale horizon's rim 
The Berkshire Hills erect their purple peaks, 
By soft remoteness mellowed, faint but sure 
In calm eternal and immovable. 

Far borne upon the mountain's furrowed front 
The crystal springs o'erflow in trickling rills 
That rush together confluent, at last 
To dash among the rocks in some cascade 
18 



Or leap the sounding waterfall and straight 
Remount to heaven in a cloud of spray — 
Of diamond-flashing, rainbow-tinted cloud. 



How rush the raging torrents with a roar 

When spring has loosed the chain of winter's snow 

Upon the rugged crags and ragged cliffs ! 

What mighty voices speak the maddened plunge 

Among the rough and jagged rocks below ! 

Amid terrific thunders and the flash 

Of lightning, dropping back like countless thoughts 

Dispersed, and thus returning in the march 

Of their existence, joyfully they bless 

The lowly, heaving bosom of the earth. 

Through fertile valleys sure they thread their way 

To join the noble Hudson, peaceful stream, 

Like lovely child in quiet, healthy sleep 

Between the hostile, battled phalanxes 

Of foot-hills sundered by his flowing tide. 



Here meadows broad and rich with waving grain, 
There stately woods or luscious pasture-lands 
Between the crystal winding brooks appear. 
And orchards bending, serried row on row 
19 



Outspread their branches near the rural homes 
With promise of a harvest plenteous. 
The narrow highways fleeing from the mount 
Embroidered deep with lacy emerald 
Entice the mind to wander far with them — 
To what fair goal of mystery and joy? 



Where glistening point the church-spires heavenward 

The quiet villages play hide-and-seek 

Amid embowered, billowed greenery. 

When night drops down upon the sleepy day 

And all the dome is spangled thick with stars, 

See twinkling up in smiling mockery 

The bright electric planets, mimic suns 

And satellites, of towns and villages. 

With cheerfulness they glimmer through the night 

And homeward ever lead the wanderer. 



At morn the Hudson skyward sends his mist 

A cloudly billow hiding his fair course. 

By fog enwrapped, the spreading landscape seems 

A quiet sea, an archipelago 

Whose isles are tree-tops thrust above the rack. 

When soon the sun ascends the faint blue line 

20 



That marks where earth recedes and sky begins 
The cloud, dispersed as by a magic hand, 
Reveals the earth in lovely freshness decked — 
In calm, in grandeur, and in quietude. 
And heaven it greets with smiling matin face 
In silence eloquently praising God. 

Blessed vale where man may live in sweet content 
In ever youthful days, beside his hearth ! 
Here, close to God, behold each year glad life 
Renewed through earth's great pulsing parent heart. 
A guarding sentinel keeps watch unchanged 
Amid the storm and stress of waxing centuries. 
God speaks a message through the still, scarred rocks, 
The trickling streams, the breathing of the trees, 
The raging tempest and the listening calm 
That broods upon hale Helderberg for aye. 
Or down the valleys pours a boundless wealth, 
A flood of love and joy for all who heed. 



21 



TO A SONG SPARROW 

■vOtwEET, sweet, sweeter, sweetest," you sing 
•^^^ When shy and fitfully the spring 
Comes lagging from the south to bring 

The pleasant days, 
While gaily through the hedge you wing 
With song of praise. 



So happily and light, dear bird, 

You trill your song, the clearest heard. 

While yet the sap has hardly stirred 

In brush or tree. 
Glad your return was not deferred 

You're telling me. 

Is it the warming sky of blue, 
Or shelter of the spreading yew 
When sudden winds their utmost do 

To bid spring stay, 
That "sweet, sweet," still, though chilled quite 
through. 

You pipe your lay ? 



22 



How rippling come the notes pell mell, 
So quick the bird makes haste to tell ! 
" 'Tis echo of a southern dell 

I voice in song 
And knowing you would love it well, 

Brought it along." 



Is "sweeter" small eggs in the nest, 
Cuddled beneath your mate's warm breast? 
Does wifey brood at your behest 

From morn till night, 
While just to sing is your whole quest 

In gay delight? 



"My mate and I, a happy twain. 
Make welcome every soft spring rain 
That falls when for a home again 

We make our quest. 
And then I sing a sweeter strain 

About the nest." 



23 




BEAR PATH NEAR RAINBOW FALLS 



Well, what is "sweetest"? I would hear 
A language you could speak more clear. 
I do not understand, I fear, 

A single word. 
And yet I love you well, you dear, 

You bonny bird ! 

"Why, I have told you all along" 
(Pipes back the bird in happy song) 
"How can you get the story wrong 

In stupid way? 
That 'sweetest' is a nestling throng, 

That's what I say." 



THE HUSKING BEE 

Some people think the husking bee 

An insect very funny. 
For all he does is just to buzz 

And steal his fill of honey. 

—M. G. K. 



24 



I LIFT MY HEART TO THEE 

/^ God, I lift my heart to Thee! 

Grant I may ever see Thy face. 
Grave doubts and fears come tempting me. 

Save me from all by Thy rich grace, 
And keep me close to Thee. 



One step I cannot see ahead. 

O bend Thee down to hear my cry, 
When earthly passions flaming red 

Would move to put Thee, Saviour, by, 
And bow with shame my head. 

Dear Lord, without Thy constant love, 
Without Thy ever watchful eye, 

I cannot all my moments prove, 

Or feel Thou hast not passed me by 

And shut from me Thy love. 

And yet, dear Lord, I'll do my part 
Each day through confidence in Thee, 

Assured if I but lift my heart 
Thy blessing freely waits for me 

And will not e'er depart. 

25 



THROUGH STORMY DAYS 

j^^HROUGH Stormy days when all is gray 
With wind and cloud and flying spray, 
When dashing on the window-pane 
We hear the patter of the rain 
Tattoo its pleasant rhythmic play, 
How sweet to know through all the day 
Life's truest joys can never wane 
Through stormy days! 



Through every cloud must pierce the ray. 
Transmute the somber clouds to gay, 
And nature sound a blithesome strain 
And man take up the glad refrain, 
For all that's good must ever stay 
Through stormy days. 



26 



NATURE'S VOICES 

^OluNNY summer morning 
'^^"'^ Sweet and fair, 
Birds are singing gaily 

Matins on the air. 
Robins, wrens, and thrushes 

One full chorus raise 
Till the air is laden 

With their praise. 



Roses shed their perfume 

All around. 
Flinging dainty petals 

On the mellow ground; 
Roses red and yellow, 

Pink, and white, and blush 
Till the garden seemeth 

All aflush. 



Lightly gentle breezes 

Kiss the trees. 
Drowsy sounds the humming 

Of the busy bees, 



27 



All of sweets seem blended 
To the sense and sight 

On the clear cool morning 
Fair and bright. 



Cometh all this beauty 

From above, 
Kind and good and gracious 

Is our God of love; 
Nature's countless voices 

Ever speak His praise, 
Human heart, repeat it, 

All thy days. 



THE SAWBUCK 

The sawbuck's very docile, 
On it the wood is cut; 

I've never seen it rampant, 
Nor have I seen it butt. 

—M. G. K. 



28 



THE TORY SPY 

'*Tjt GAMBREL house, low, rambling, weather worn, 
•^— ^ The homestead where my ancestors were born, 
Stood in an orchard where a running brook 
Oft drew the angler with his fly and hook. 
The brook remains and murmurs as of yore, 
But gone the house within whose open door 
One autumn day I ran in childish glee 
On hearing grandsire call me to his knee. 



Beside the hearth where glows the back log's fire 
I see him in his fine old-time attire 
Sit straight and stately in his high-backed chair. 
His ruffled shirt-front, curled and powdered hair, 
His waistcoat small, knee-breeches prim and tight. 
And silver buckles flashing in the light. 
He looked a man who boasted some degree 
Of learning, riches and authority. 

I see the andirons in the flickering light, 
The copper kettles shining smooth and bright, 
The heavy timbers black with age and smoke. 
And mantle clock from which a cuckoo spoke, 

29 



The candlesticks, the pewter plates and mugs, 
The oaken floor o'erspread with home-made rugs, 
And where the sunbeam through the window flits 
With distaff there my grandame spinning sits. 

I feel once more the magic of that room, 
Its corners dark with mystery and gloom; 
I hear again the tale my grandsire told 
In thrilling tones of one both brave and bold, 
The while I sit upon his knee so prim 
And hear his words in childlike awe of him. 
I see these pictures still before my eye 
Just as I tell his story of the spy. 

Long years ago, when over all this scene 
Lay dreamy haze and mellow ripened air 
Of autumn days, dear nature's quiet breast 
Was calmly waiting for the winter's rest. 
The trees denuded of their leaves stood tall. 
And straight, and sentinel against the cliffs 
Without a stir of twig in silence deep. 
No longer hidden by its summer green. 
Asleep the mountain seemed; yet never life 
Spake strong to mortal sight nor more serene. 
A misty veil enwrapped the azure heights 

30 



Of Helderberg's majestic solemn face, 
Deep-seamed by mountain floods. The setting sun 
Long shadows cast upon the rugged hill 
And dropped the mists to valley and to plain. 



What creeps amid the deeper shadows lone, 

So stealthily, so silently alert? 

A human form, the feet in moccasins, 

Treads light the narrow path. The feathered head 

Turns oft to glance about, and every twig 

Is placed by careful hands as it had been. 

At dropping of a single shriveled leaf 

He crouches by a rock, a man in fear 

Aroused by every faint and harmless sound. 

He waits in dread suspense, then starts again 

To reach a refuge safe, for him secure. 

Up then with sudden tiger leap he springs 

To clutch a ledge and disappears from sight. 

When passed the entrance to the cave he throws 

The deerskin blanket and the feathered band 

Upon the rocky floor. In that faint light, 

Dim though it is, no Indian chief it shows. 

No hardy, fearless pioneer is he. 

But one of England's loyal Saxon sons! 



31 



Oh, wild the time of bloodshed and of strife, 
Revolting colonists, and parent hand 
Outstretched with war to conquer and subdue! 
And is this man, then, hiding in disguise 
A Tory spy? He is! This royal head, 
This form so straight and tall, and lithe of limb, 
A very god to look upon! His eye 
With courage flashing cool, the heritage 
Of victor ancestors, both strong and bold. 
The brooding brow, the beardless chiseled chin 
Set firm, the active hands and tawny hair. 
The quiet, watchful, daring worthy foe! 
No weakling thus would risk to act the spy ! 
With touch of sadness on his face he stands 
Alone upon the mountain-side with God, 
To watch the shadows lengthen into night. 

This spot is sacred, too, for here there lived 
A tribe of Iroquois, the Mohawks called. 
With Tories oft they smoked the calumet 
And fought as loyal brothers side by side. 
This night of which I speak, when silently 
The spy attained the rocky hiding-place. 
It chanced at eve that I, when trudging home, 
Came suddenly upon a camp above 
32 



The hanging cHffs that overlook the vale. 

But twelve my years, and mortal fear of foes 

Quick caused my heart to faint, so late alone. 

That morn no one was there. In dread I hid 

And watched the group so near their words I heard. 

But little understood I Mohawk speech; 

Yet still I learned enough to know they talked 

Of someone near who waited for their meal. 

Above the fire a steaming kettle swung 

From which a squaw dipped tender bits of game 

And filled a basket. This she gave a chief, 

Who slipped away a shadow 'mid the trees, 

While breathlessly I watched the course he took. 

And down a ladder disappear from view. 

As dusk drew down the somber shades of night 

I crept away unseen and fled like deer 

Toward my home and told what I had seen. 

My father heard my story with concern, 
'We drove the Tories out three weeks ago. 
What makes the Mohawks now return?" he said. 
"They know each spot in all this wilderness. 
And can it be a spy returned with them 
To stay in hiding now in some dark cave 
Among the cliffs? I must report the thing." 

33 



At dawn the Colonel wakened from his rest 
To learn the startling news : 

"A spy concealed 
In Helderberg!" he cried. "Arouse the camp, 
And send at once a party for the search!" 
The bugle sounded, soldiers came in haste 
The meaning of this new alarm to learn. 
With anger and amaze they heard the news 
And burned each one when starting on the quest 
In vengeance on a vanquished foe who dared 
Return within their bounds to spy on them. 
No trained and well-appointed soldiers they 
But brave and earnest men each one who fought 
As for himself. Well might a foeman quail 
To meet in battle patriots like them. 
For days they searched and watches left at night 
To guard each path. What unknown dangers faced, 
The beasts untamed that roamed the mountain wild, 
Deceitful redmen camping high above. 
What dark and gloomy cave but might conceal 
The one they sought, unseen yet seeing them. 

In vain they search ! From out a hidden cave, 
The entrance like to many others more 
Of crevices among the placid rocks, 

34 



The spy looked down and grimly watched secure 
Their every act as fearlessly they moved; 
Nor knew their danger. Dearly would he sell 
His life if found, this strange and silent foe! 

A month elapsed. They found his hiding-place, 
But his escape in safety had been made. 
The meager remnants of the food he left 
Bespoke the tortures grim he had endured 
Through fearsome days the redman dared not come. 
Had he e'er dreamed of banquets in his home 
To wake and find himself alone, alone? 
What dreadful fear and anguished loneliness 
Heart-breaking groans for human friends and kin! 
No record left ! But if the rocks could tell 
That silent cave would ring the echoes back 
Of speechless thoughts and hopes and sighs and 
prayers. 

Forgot, O Spy, thy name and ancestry! 
But Helderberg can ne'er forget. His rocks 
And waterfalls are tuneful with thy praise. 
No foe is he who lives in noble deeds 
The promise of his steadfast loyalty, 
Nor stops to offer e'en his life devote 

35 



If need be for the cause he loves and serves. 
Forever do the true, the good, the great 
Live through their deeds Hke blazing beacon fire! 
Thy act, O Spy, shines out from Helderberg 
To turn our gaze forever to its heights. 



A WISE PLAN 

/ 1 \HEN the golden sun is shining 
^ Brightly all the day 
It is easy to be happy 

If at work or play; 
But when days are dark and cloudy. 

In the stormy weather, 
Then how nice if storm and sunshine 

Could but come together. 

I have planned a little something 

Seems to me just right. 
It is when the days are dreary 

I will be so bright 
People will be saying gaily 

When we come together: 
"What a lovely bit of sunshine 

In this stormy weather." 
36 



AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN* 

T N an old-fashioned garden glad Time stays his flight 
•■^ From the blushes of morn to the tear-drops of 
night ; 
For the odorous breath of the Lily and Rose 
Have a fragrance far sweeter than some would sup- 
pose, 
And remembrance is tinted with youthful delight 

When the halos of childhood return with the sight 
Of Forget-me-not loyal and Sweet William bright; 
And the zephyrs old scenes, ever-changing, disclose 
In an old-fashioned garden. 

When the Ruby-throat darts in his jewels bedight 
From Campanula's bells to lank Larkspur's blue height 
Every vision is realized ; loved long-agoes 
Instant fuse with the present and joy overflows 
At the beauty resplendent these flashes unite 
In an old-fashioned garden. 



-M. G. K. 



* Written after visiting the poet's garden in June, 1908. 



y? 



y 



LITTLE ONE | 

ou are here within my heart to stay, i 

Little One, Little One. ! 



I will never let you go away, 

Little One, Little One. 

Oh, I would not if I could. 

For I love you as I should, 

You are growing dearer every day. 

Little One, Little One. 



Many years I longed to have you here, 

Little One, Little One. 
For I knew you would be sweetly dear. 
Little One, Little One. 
Oh, the joyfulness I know, 
Just to keep you warmly so. 
Where no harm can come to you, nor fear. 
Little One, Little One. 



You are happy in the peaceful rest. 
Little One, Little One. 

Safely and beloved in my breast, 
Little One, Little One. 



38 



Oh, the best that I can do, 1 

Is not good enough for you, i 

Fair and lovely spirit of the blest, { 

Little One, Little One. ! 



ECHO 

'pTLOATS a murmur faint and airy, 
^-^ Hark! 'tis echo calling 
Like the whisper of a fairy 
On the mountain falling. 
Echo, maid, where is thy dwelling? 
It is where thy note is welling 
Soft and tremulously knelling 
Light as summer air? 

Art thou true an aerie spirit ? 
Thy elusive voice — I hear it — 
Yet I ne'er can get a-near it — 

Echo, art thou there ? 



39 



IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND 

*X* N the hollow of His hand, in the hollow of His 

*~^ hand, 

Oh, the Lord will ever keep us till we reach the better 

land, 
Every day each new-found treasure but reveals His 

constant care. 
All the bounties of His blessings that surround us 

everywhere. 
Can we fail to love and praise Him, that in safety we 

may stand 
Assured of His enfolding love, in the hollow of His 

hand? 

In the hollow of His hand, oh, the peace and happiness 
When amid life's stormy billows all its care and eager 

stress. 
Knowing that whate'er befalls us, nothing yet can do 

us harm, 
When above, and all around us, reaches the Almighty 

arm. 
Raising in our hearts an anthem that is solemn, sweet 

and grand, 
Praising Him for His protection, in the hollow of His 

hand. 



40 



In the hollow of His hand, in the little things or great, 

He will yet reveal His meaning, if we joyfully but wait. 

For He loves us as a father, and He constant will de- 
fend. 

So what cause have we to murmur at whatever He 
may send, 

For the blessings that He gives us are but foretastes 
of that land 

Where some day He will transport us, in the hollow of 
His hand. 



NOT I 

In spring I'm afraid to venture about — 
Indeed, I am often dismayed — 

For every big bud is ready to shoot, 
And I'm such a coward I surely would scoot 
Should ever a flower its pistil present 
In fun or in earnest. I'd not be content 
To watch the young grass as it brandished its 
blade. 
Nor quietly stand when the bull-rush is out. 
Not I. 

—M. G. K. 



41 



MEMORIES 

*Y^ EAR friend, you said that all is good 
■^^ That day we spent together. 
The time was fragrant month of June 

And sunny was the weather. 
We talked of people, places, things, 

Of life, and love, and duty. 
And all the choicest thoughts of men 

And of this fair world's beauty. 



Your way lies 'mid the marts of life. 

Where hearts of men oft harden, 
Mine in a quiet, peaceful spot, 

An old-time country garden. 
But unto each that perfect day 

Came as a bit of leaven; 
You minded me of bustling life. 

To you my home seemed heaven. 

Sweet breathing-places in our lives. 
Dear memories to treasure. 

To bind them fondly on our hearts 
Those hours of purest pleasure. 



42 



Our lives may flow, the years may pass 
And other friends surround us, 

But never from that time can leave 
The magic spell that bound us. 



FOR THY CARE 

/^ H, Lord, we thank Thee for Thy tender keeping 
^^ O'er all our lives Thy loving watchful eye. 
With ne'er a fear in waking or in sleeping 

Sweet, calm and peaceful, for Thou e'er art nigh. 



We lift our hearts in grateful adoration 

And humbly, prayerfully, invoke Thy love; 

We bow before Thee, wonderful Creator, 
Whose daily mercies evermore we prove. 

Oh Father, grant that every day our living 
May show we daily live to serve but Thee; 

A song of praise or word of love be giving 
To teach some waiting child to come to Thee. 



43 



SPRINGTIME 

IT is Springtime, come the bluebird and the robin 
on the wing 
And their mating notes are calHng everywhere, 
And the glad new life is starting fresh and bright on 
everything 
With the pure and thrilling rapture of the air. 



Scent the fragrance of the furrow as the farmer turns 
the sod, 
Daily following the plow with tireless feet; 
While his horses tread the stubble piling mellow clod 
on clod 
Rises up that welcome scent enticing sweet. 

With the balmy air about him and the green upon the 
trees 
And the sky above a calm and peerless blue, 
From afar a promise greets him on the breath of every 
breeze 
As a blessing on his labor good and true. 

Harvest time and barns o'erflowing, eventide of peace- 
ful rest. 
These his cheerful, honest toiling to repay; 
44 



While the mystery of growing from the fields enlivened ] 

breast \ 

Nature's new and varied wonders day by day. ; 



Golden sunbeams shining brightly, flood the valley, hill 
and plain, 

Lighting every quiet glade with glimmer fair, 
All creation is rejoicing in a gay exultant strain 

For the rousing throb of life is in the air. 



From the earth it comes upspringing, with a joyous- 
ness for all 
Sending forth anew with each succeeding spring; 
From her warm and mystic bosom comes her soft in- 
sistent call 
Blessing new with life and love each fertile thing. 



Oh, the magic of the leaflets swelling fast on bush and I 

tree, ] 

Oh, the beauty of the perfect bud and flower, 

Shedding fragrance on the breezes, luscious nectar for I 

the bee, ; 

Freely lavishing their sweetness every hour. ; 

45 1 



Every mother bird is brooding gently, warm upon her 
nest; 
Like a flame her lover flashes up above, 
While each thrilling note of gladness that o'erflows his 
gallant breast 
Tells the tender story full of life and love. 

On the soft and grassy meadows frisk the lambs in 
happy play 

While the ewes re-echo oft their loving cry, 
And the bobolink is singing as he upwards mounts away, 

Dropping rich and limpid laughter from the sky. 

On the water, gleaming shadows from the leaning trees 
above, 
Shade the quiet pools where flashing fishes play. 
And from out the leafy distance comes the note of 
turtle dove 
In a tender mellow calling day by day. 

Tuned to harmony, and peerless, the beguiling charm 
of spring 
Is a paradise of beauty to the sight, 
Every dulcet sound and blossom, each alert and living 
thing 
Fill the hymeneal cup of Spring's delight. 

46 



MY RICHES 

/^ H^ give me the woods for my pillow, 
^^ The blue sky overhead, 
While I watch the tree-tops billow 
From my soft and mossy bed. 

Oh, give me the verdurous thickets 
Where sweet wild berries hang, 

While I hark to strident crickets 
As they sound their rasping twang. 

Oh, give me the forest-land flowers, 

The calm of dingle, dell, 
While I rest 'neath oaks' tall towers 

Where the squirrels love to dwell. 

These, these are my richest possessions, 
More dear than wealth of Rome, 

They are gifts whose rich accessions 
Make the dear old earth a home. 

And there where the water is falling 
With tinkle clear and bright, 

May I hear dear voices calling — 
Happy laughter gay and light. 

47 



Oh, gladly I'll share all my pleasures 
If friends will come and see, 

All these gifts, yea, all my treasures 
Yet of priceless worth to me. 

So freely and lavishly given 
The Father's blessings fall, 

Free as dew that drops from heaven 
Come His endless gifts to all. 



WHY? 

Whip-poor-Will ? Why should I do it? 

If I flog I'll surely rue it. 

Tell me not that Will is vicious 

Through his poverty pernicious. 

Whipping is against my preaching — 

And I practise all my teaching ! 

Chastisement is out of season 

When it lacks a valid reason. 

Tell me, therefore, or be still, 

Why should I whip, whip, poor Will? 

—M. G. K. 



48 



THE SHERIFF 

Qo, child, 'twas when I was a boy 
In troublous eighteen-forty-one. 
Your father's Uncle Christopher 
Was sheriff in the Helderberg 
All through the anti-rent revolt. 
He was — 

What was the cause of strife? 
Oh, that is history. I think 
'Twas nigh three hundred years ago 
When Kilian Van Rensselaer 
Bought all the land for miles around 
To found a farmers' settlement. 
Perhaps to feed his vanity. 
Or maybe to perpetuate 
His name, he called the great estate 
His Rensselaerwick. Now the land 
You'll find by looking on the map, 
Makes three great counties, Rensselaer, 
Columbia, and Albany. 

With almost curbless privilege 

Each new Patroon, as he was called, 

Assumed the right to rule and tax, 

49 



For none there was to hinder him. 

At last, in eighteen-thirty-nine, 

When Stephen, last of the Patroons, 

Was laid away, the heirs essayed 

To sue the tenants for back rent; 

But straight the farmers stanch opposed, 

And, hence, revolt. 



Well, Christopher, | 

As I began, was known to be ,| 

Intrepid, never would he halt, | 

Or hesitate when duty bade; \ 
So when the heirs their papers filed 

To dispossess Hans StU3^vesant, i 

Jan Bensdorp, Schuyler Ghent, Van Wyck, i 

(I don't recall his Christian name), i 

And Hendrick Voorhees for arrears, ; 

Our Uncle Christopher rode forth j 

Arrayed in legal dignity I 

To serve the notices himself, '\ 
For well he knew the attitude 

Maintained against the heirs-at-law J 

And scarce he'd trust another hand i 
To do important work for him. 



so 



With little parley every man 
Destroyed the papers in his sight, 
And threw the fragments for the breeze 
To blow where'er it would. 

Van Wyck, 
I should have said, was burning brush 
When Uncle Batterman arrived. 
He thrust the paper in the fire 
And lit his pipe! Our uncle's ire 
Arose to boiling-point. Said he: 
*'Van Wyck, were I not sheriff sworn 
No man in Helderberg would dare 
Insult me as he has to-day. 
My oath is sacred, but for once 
I'll lay aside my sheriff's vow 
And meet you as a man. Your size. 
Your age and strength may equal mine 
But I will teach you manners, sir, 
You will not soon forget, I'll — " 

"Stop!" 
Commanded calm Van Wyck, "stop! stop! 
You must not think that we intend 
The least affront to you. Sit down 

51 



And hear me through. I'll not be long. 

Now, Batterman," Van Wyck began 

When Uncle Christopher had sat, 

"The farmers are agreed to pay 

No further tax and no arrears 

Upon the basis which, you know 

As well as I, has made us poor. 

For more than sixty years Patroons 

Have had no right to exercise 

Or hold control as formerly; 

But still they've forced us to comply, 

Yes, forced us into servitude, 

To own yet not to own our land, 

To labor without pay from them. 

To pay excessive fees for sales. 

Excessive rent, excessive tax. 

We'll stand no more. We have resolved 

To rise and exercise our rights. 

We will not recognize the law 

Which claims that might is right; 

But we will prove that right is might. 

So, Batterman, mark well my words: 

Toward you as man we have no grudge, 

But if, as sheriff, you attempt 

To force illegal law, beware!" 

52 



''Beware? Of whom shall I beware?" 

Our uncle cried as up he leaped, 

"Of you, Van Wyck, or Bensdorp, Ghent, 

Of Stuyvesant, or Voorhees? No! 

Not one, nor all of you combined 

Can swerve me. When I come again, 

As come I will unless you pay 

Before the designated time, 

I'll come with force to move you all. 

So be prepared to sally forth 

With goods and chattels, otherwise 

ril go the limit of the law 

To move you out. You know me well!" 

And vaulting on his horse he turned 

And galloped home. 

His speech was heard 
By Ghent and Bensdorp who had joined 
Van Wyck. Indignant these three stood 
And glared their ire at horse and man 
As long as they remained in sight. 
Then spoke Jan Bensdorp: *T declare 
I will not pay; nor will I move. 
My home shall be my fort. I'll fight 
Whoever tries to put me out." 



53 



"The heirs are wrong," said Schuyler Ghent. 

''We all know that. They know it, too, 

But think we'll cringe as aye before. 

No more shall I. The wheat I raise 

Shall no more go for rent while I 

Subsist on rye. My boys and girls 

No more shall double yarn at night, 

Long after they should be in bed, 

For blankets to be sold for rent. 

Nor shall my wife raise hens and ducks, 

Nor slave like me from dawn till dark 

With but a single aim, to fill 

A landlord's hungry money-chest. 

I'll fight the sheriff ere I'll leave." 

"There'll sure be need of violence," 
Declared Van Wyck. "The countryside 
Is all aroused. Bold Batterman 
Will surely come with officers; 
But mark my words, he'll not evict 
A single man. We've organized 
(You know of this he's not aware) 
To stand upon our rights, and soon 
Shall Helderberg shake off the yoke 
That spite of plenty keeps us poor." 

54 



With further parley off they went 

To tell the other farmers all 

That had occurred, and with them plan 

How best to meet the sheriff's men 

Should Batterman essay to come 

To force them from their little farms. 

The day arrives, and Batterman 

Sets out with ten or twelve picked men 

To oust the five whose names I've told 

And take possession for the heirs. 

The bracing air, the noble horse, 

The road, the quest, all aim to please 

Our Uncle Christopher, and so, 

A horseman true, he spurs his steed 

And canters at good pace ahead, 

Until he reaches Bensdorp's farm. 

The nearest of the five. His men 

All join him at the farm and ride 

Like cavalry upon parade. 

Arriving at the barn they halt 

And Uncle calls. Jan Bensdorp comes 

And saunters slowly toward the group, 

Not in the least disturbed. 



55 




RAINBOW FALLS IN WINTER 



Says he, 
"Good-morning, Sheriff Batterman, 
What brings you out with all your friends 
So early in the day?" 

"You know. 
I've come to get your rent arrears 
Or, if you do not choose to pay, 
To seize your stock and property 
And move you out perforce. Now, sir, 
Which shall it be?" 

"I will not pay," 
Rude Bensdorp roars. "I owe no rent. 
Nor can you prove I do. No, sir! 
I've lived upon this little farm 
Which father cleared, and worked, and stocked, 
And now, you know the farm is mine. 
I will not pay," he roars again. 

The sheriff angered at the shout. 
Dismounts in haste and leaves his horse 
Untied. He walks toward the house 
And calls his men to follow him. 
But scarce he goes a dozen steps 
When he is startled by a shout, 

56 



And looking forward to the right 
He sees advancing from the wood 
Threescore of painted savages, 
Or so they seem, who, yelHng, rush 
With tomahawks, and bows, and spears 
Across the intervening field. 

The men and horses take affright 
And off they dash with speedy hoofs, 
Among them, frightened Hke the rest, 
The sheriff's roadster runs at large. 
In vain our uncle whistles shrill. 
In vain he seeks a place to hide. 
Jan Bensdorp runs into the house 
And bangs the door in Uncle's face. 
Then Uncle leaps into the well 
To hide — the only place he finds — 
But all too late; the redmen see 
And quick they gather at the curb 
And pull him to the top again. 

Oh, what an act that then ensued! 
A drama climax, no mistake. 
When Uncle stood among the pack 
And thundered imprecations fierce 

57 



Because he found himself entrapped! 
By redmen? No! By farmers all, 
But all disguised. 

In shorter time 
Than I can tell they hurry him 
Across the yard behind the barn. 
Some strip him bare of all his clothes. 
Some roll a barrel full of tar. 
And others bring a feather tick 
Which has been airing in the yard, 
And still another set appear 
With bulging bags of turkey plumes. 
And then with tar they plaster him 
And deck him out with coat of down. 
Upon his shoulders, arms and head 
They stick the plumes as ornaments 
Then turn him loose to wander home. 

But why portray what more occurred? 
Our Uncle Batterman fared well 
For he escaped a harder fate. 
'Twas but a single incident 
In eight years' struggle for the right. 
When tyrants tried to force their sway 



58 



But failed because the right must rule. 
For more than sixty peaceful years 
The Helderberg has now been free, 
And men may buy, and sell, and rent 
Upon a basis equable. 



THE REDBIRD 

^^HE woods and the morn give thee greeting, 
^^ Brilliant bird with the tender lay; 
My glimpse of thy beauty was fleeting, 

But I give thee a welcome to-day. 
Unasked thou hast come and unbidden 

In the lofty tree-tops to sing, 
Where safe from the curious hidden 

Is the sheen of thy scarlet wing. 

No recompense thine but the gladness 

Of a life that is unknown to care; 
Oh, bird, I rejoice that no sadness 

Mars thy notes that are thrilling the air. 
Some day when thy gay wing hath taken 

The flight that the South bids thee start. 
Thy song will my memory waken — 

A dream of thy joy in my heart. 

59 



FRIENDSHIP 

I HAVE thy friendship! It is what I crave, 
For it demands the best there is of me. 
With thy approval all things fair I see. 
I know that thou art learned, quiet, grave; 
And when of all thy store thou freely gave 
To me, then I in spirit bent the knee, 
And prayed with deep desire that I might be 
Forever on the heights where fair thoughts wave. 



I have thy friendship ! All I hold most dear 
Exultant greets this priceless gift of thine. 
This gift will aye encourage me to do 
My work and triumph over doubt and fear. 

For since I know thy friendship speaks to mine 
My every fondest hope and dream comes true. 



60 



THE BUTTERFLY 

S BUTTERFLY while flying low 
Addressed a rose as white as snow, 
And 'mid the stamens lemon yellow 
He murmured soft, the saucy fellow: 
"I love, I love, I love you. Rose, 
The sweetest flower of all that grows." 



He fluttered next, and not in vain 
To woo a lily moist with rain. 
He sipped from her corolla long 
And sang another dainty song. 
"Oh, fairer flowers cannot grow 
Than golden lilies, ah, I know." 



The honeysuckle's trumpet cup 
Then held this fickle fellow up. 
He drank his fill of nectar sweet. 
But paused a moment to repeat: 
"The honeysuckle is more dear 
Than any garden flower here." 



61 



Then off he flew with languid grace 
To kiss a pansy's gentle face. 
He soft caressed her leaves of gold, 
Then breathed again the story old 
And while the south wind softly blew, 
The happy pansy calmly grew. 

From flower to flower all day he went 
And flattery on each he spent. 

WHEN I AWAKE 

Psalm xv-ii, IS 

*JT\ ^EN ^ awake ! As dawn's clear tide 
^^ Aye melts the gloom like snowy flake 
Dropped silent on the ocean wide, 
When I awake; 

So everlasting Truth shall break 
This mortal dream that seems to hide 

The heavenly day. I'll then forsake 
Whate'er the vision false descried. 

Forget its terror and its ache ; 

For then I shall be satisfied — 

When I awake. 

—M. G. K. 



62 



SOLITUDE 

^^T HE bittern cries when night comes on, 
^^ I hear its mournful voice once more 
Rise through the dusk and then 'tis gone, 
The plaintive wail across the moor. 

It loves the wild and solitude 

Of lonely marsh and tangled brake, 

The voiceless stillness of the wood. 
And shiny shores of forest lake. 

And to my heart the bittern's cries 
A message bring but faint yet far. 

In deeps where haunted silence lies 
Is where my own possessions are. 

They, they bring peace, the quiet ways 
That nature's God makes great and good, 

And nature's tangled, knotted maze, 
Is through them fully understood. 



63 



THE BIRD 

y~l*WAY have I gone in the clear Hght of morning, 
^—^ In the fair sunny South my swift wings I shall 

fold, 
I have left the sere meadows all brown with dead 

clover, 
To seek for a far brighter spot than the wold. 

I sought you and found you when spring wafted fra- 
grance 
From meadows and forests and fair northern flow- 
ers; 
And through the long summer my love found its 
treasure 
In daintiest gardens and beautiful bowers. 

The flowers are gone, but I treasure their beauty, 
They gave me my dearest, my chief est delight; 

But now the cold winds fill their places with sighing, 
My spirit with sadness was filled by the sight. 

So far I have come over vale and o'er mountain. 
From cold chilling blasts have I hastened to flee, 

Once more in a garden of languorous beauty 
I joy in the sweets that are open to me. 

64 



I loved you the more that your bright days were fleet- 
ing. 

You were part of my Hfe yet I bid you adieu. 
But still 'mid these scenes of new pleasure I cherish 

More fondly each hour my remembrance of you. 



THE PATH 

/ I y hat's beyond the sudden turn? 

Down the path gay Jennie trips: 
Guide or staff her light feet spurn, 
Laughing words upon her lips. 

Lacy ferns and stately trees, 

Fallen rocks and waterfall 
These are what blithe Jennie sees, 

These and nature — lovely all. 

Narrow, winding, woodland way 
Maid with heart as light as air, 

Lucky mountain hides to-day 
One sweet treasure in its snare. 



65 



TO A GOLDFINCH IN FEBRUARY 

/^^ OLD skies and snow-clad fields around, 
^^ And biting winds with warning sound 
Sweep o'er thee, Goldfinch, on the ground 

Here at my door. 
Few are the crumbs, I fear, thou'st found; 

Come, search for more. 

I knew thee best through summer days, 
When caroling thy limpid lays, 
A bird of joy and witching ways 

To please the eye; 
But now I view thee with amaze, 

And needs must sigh. 

Thou tiny thing so weak to bear 

The burden of this wintry air 

Thou sure wast made for days more fair. 

So seems to me, 
Since thou wast ever debonair 

And bright with glee. 

But now the one beseeching note 
That trembles from thy tender throat 
Seems calling from that time remote 

66 



A friend to-day, 
Yet only may its echo float 

On thy lone way. 

Thy gay companions long have fled 
Where skies of heavenly blue are spread, 
And fragrance of sweet flowers is shed 

Upon the wind. 
What strange desire possessed thy head 

To stay behind? 

Didst thou so love this land of ours — 
None sweeter are than northern flowers !- 
That loath to leave familiar bowers 

Thou heededst not 
The warning of the waning hours 

And wert forgot? 

Didst thou exchange thy black and gold 
For this gray suit to match the cold — 
For thy black cap that made thee bold 

Thou wearest red — 
And doth this tiny flame enfold 

To warm thy head? 
67 



Thy soft gray down in pity sweet 

Flutters to shield thy fragile feet; 

For green boughs made, lo, here they meet 

But cold and snow. 
When comes the cutting hail and sleet 

Where wilt thou go? 

Since thou hast braved so long this chill, 

I know thou hast undaunted will 

To greet the Power that helps thee still 

Bravely to live. 
What destiny dost thou fulfil, 

What lesson give? 

Here at my door this wintry day 
Thou'st found to help thee on thy way, 
And cheerfully henceforth I'll lay 

Crumbs for thy food. 
What treasures, when those thrown away 

Have done thee good! 

Small bird, encircled by His care 
That keeps thee safely everywhere. 
May I achieve through hope and prayer 

That light divine. 
And bravely learn to do and dare 

In faith like thine. 
68 



THE WOMAN WHO WEARS A SMILE 

/J^IVE me the woman who never frowns, 
^^ Whose face is an open book, 
Who smiles right at me frank and fair 

With a sort of chummy look, 
Whose happy eyes are bright and clear, 

With never a trace of guile, 
Oh, the woman I hold so good and dear 

Is the woman who wears a smile. 

I know a woman who ever smiles; 

Her heart is a mint of gold. 
It matters not what her name may be 

Or whether she's young or old. 
'Tis enough to know she will never fail 

If a cause be true and just. 
Such the matchless grace of the constant heart 

In whom I have put my trust. 

The world is better, the day more fair, 

Less thorns are in our path 
When we meet the woman who wears a smile, 

When we hear her happy laugh. 
God bless the woman who wears a smile, 

God bless her every day. 
And bless the people whose tired lives 

She brightens along the way. 



THE ASSESSOR I 

/^N a tall cattail clung a lithe little elf — ] 
^^ He was pulling some wool for his hose 

i 

And was merrily humming: 

"The winter is coming; i 

I must guard against freezing my toes. I 

My wife she will spin, she will knit stockings, too. , 

She will knit me a nice tight cap i 

With a good big flap, ] 

And I'll care not a rap 

When the frost king comes with a snap." I 

But the cattail said: "Go along with you, | 

And pillage the milkweed's down. I 

Have you no feeling I 

My wool to be stealing '} 

To leave me a poor bald crown? ] 

For the milkweed can cover her head with her cap, j 

But how all the people would stare, | 

At my poll all bare J 

To the wintry air, \ 

Little elf, do you call that fair?" j 

With pockets so full they were bulging out I 

The merry elf hopped to the ground. 1 

70 ' 



With a cute little wiggle, 

He said with a giggle: 
"How like you that grumble does sound!" 
For you know you don't need any wool at all 
As the days of winter are told. 

With your roots in the mold, 

Like a lamb in the fold 
You are safe from the snow and cold. 

"But for me and my kind, oh, many the days 
When 'tis cold for frolic and fun. 

While you are wrapped deep 

In your long winter sleep 
We are busy from sun to sun. 
I am sure you are growing too proud, cattail, 
And you have no reason at all, 

With your leaves thin and tall, 

Where the jolly frogs call. 
And your little brown bob in the fall. 

"It was I who pointed your beauty to folks. 
Where you grow 'mid the wiry sedge 
You give quite an air 
To the landscape fair 
As you stand at the water's edge." 

71 



The little elf paused and winked his eye; 

Then he said, "Now, my friend, you must surely see 

That each autumn to me 

You must yield joyfully 
When I come here to claim my fee." 

He turned with a mischievous grin on his face. 
In a twinkling he sped away 

And the cattail said 

With a shake of its head, 
"What a fearful levy to pay!" 
So now when you see him standing forlorn, 
His bob in a wilful pout, 

You may know without doubt 

That the elves are about 
And are pulling his soft wool out. 



WHEN? 

When does the henbane cackle, 

Her wattles all aglow? 
And I should so much like to know 
When does the haycock crow? 

—M. G. K. 
n 



MY NEIGHBORS 

/^ NE Spring a bluebird came to me 
^^ And asked me from my tall ash-tree 
To build a house where he might rear 
His youngsters for the coming year. 
Perhaps you think a bird can't speak 
Because he has to use a beak. 
But when he sat an hour straight 
Upon one bough thus to relate 
In birdlike way by peering 'round, 
First in the tree, then on the ground, 
And calling, calling, pleadingly, 
I knew he said that very tree 
Was just the place if only I 
Would fix a house for him up high. 

Some shingles, and a painted board 

I rummaged from my attic hoard. 

A house I made with small round door, 

A sloping roof, and smooth tight floor. 

I snugly made each joint to fit. 

Then placed it where he wanted it 

And when 'twas done, that selfsame day 



73 



He and his mate began to lay 

The straws to build their Httle nest, 

He in his dainty-colored vest 

Of gray and tan and coat of blue 

That gleamed with beauty as he flew. 

The nest was done. His wife I'd see 

Upon her eggs sit tenderly. 

And when the feeble chirps were heard 

From every little nestling bird 

He'd help all day to bring them food — 

A tender father, kind and good. 

Then both the birds with watchful eye 

Soon taught the young ones how to fly. 

Well, after they had reared this brood, 
When by my rustic gate I stood, 
I heard the master tell his wife: 
"This is a merry, joyous life; 
Let's raise some other youngsters, dear, 
So they may reap the summer's cheer." 
She fluttered gay from fence to limb. 
And thus she blithely answered him: 
"I'm ready, husband; straight away 
I'll go into our house and lay." 



74 



The summer sun was waxing hot, 
The grass burned in the pasture lot 
When brood the second, one, two, three. 
Flew to a near-by orchard tree. 
The early fruit was hanging there, 
The harvest apple and the pear, 
While down along the fence there grew 
A mulberry with fruit like dew. 

The father and the mother bird. 

Each on a fence-post hardly stirred. 

Once more they had a little talk; 

I listened from the garden walk: 

"My wife," said father, "winter time 

Is yet afar, we're in our prime, 

The house looks empty and forlorn 

Where our eight fledgling young were born. 

We yet have time, I know, to rear 

Still one more brood this happy year." 

Oh, my! with fire how flashed her eye! 

At once she flew and passed him by 

Across the road in rapid flight. 

Upon an apple bough to light 

And chirp these snappy words (I heard) : 



7S 



"You surely are a foolish bird ! 

Your vest is faded and your coat 

Is tattered from your tail to throat. 

Then I am weary as can be 

Of living longer in that tree. 

Its leaves are shriveled up and dry. 

These shady fruit trees take my eye. 

Our younglings here are having fun 

From early morn till set of sun. 

I'll live with them, that's what I'll do. 

If you are wise, sir, so will you." 

She flew away, quite out of sight; 
He did not follow her swift flight, 
But sat dejected in the sun 
And preened his feathers one by one. 
Then having prinked the best he could, 
He followed as a wise bird should. 



7(i 



THE ORIOLE j 

/^^ LEAR notes full sweet and mellow \ 

^^ Arising in a glad exultant strain ■ 

Reveal the oriole, in coat of yellow, \ 

Down in the shady lane. J 

A gleam of gold his darting ] 

Like flame whene'er he ventures on the wing! I 

What wondering thoughts in mortals will be starting ] 

When he essays to sing. I 

His fabric nest is swinging 

Amid the branches of the old elm-tree, 
Where brooding calm, his mate lists to the ringing 

Of his rich melody, ^ 

Whence came his song of gladness? ; 

From what rich fount o'erflowing with delight i 

Hath he achieved the golden, sweetened madness I 

That marks his happy flight? j 

Is love the tender story \ 

He warbles in his jubilant loud notes, ,j 

A crystal stream of glad triumphant glory j 
That upward gaily floats? 

i 

i 



Or came it from the Giver 

Of that great opulence whence blessings spring, 
Who sends the sunbeams with their warming quiver 

Of life for everything? 

Again that note is calling 

As on the topmost bough he sings and sways, 
While blushing petals noiselessly are falling 

All through the balmy days. 

He knoweth naught of sorrow, 

For free and gay he ever doth rejoice; 

Nor needeth yet of any bliss to borrow. 
Deep joy swells in his voice. 

When others sit repining. 

And rain is blessing every bush and tree, 
From out the orchard where his coat is shining 

He sings his nielody. 

Through sunny days he ever 

Outpours the music of his gladsome strain; 
All other birds may sing, but they will never 

Excel his blithe refrain. 

78 



Blest bird, each year returning 

With all the myriad beauties of the spring, 
For thee my heart is ever fondly yearning 

To hear thee sweetly sing. 

A bit of heaven descended. 

To dwell a living joy among my trees ; 
No melodies nor beauties e'er were blended 

More perfectly than these. 



THE FOREHEAD OF THE HILL 

•^TEACHER often declares in geography class, 
^-^ So sincerely I cannot impeach her : 
"On the face of the hill you will find only one 

Very evident, prominent feature ; 
It's the brow of the hill," she asserts with a smile, 

"And on steep hills it's always a high-brow; 
But on hills big or little, you'll never observe 

Anything you'd mistake for an eyebrow." 

—M. G. K. 



79 



THE WOODS 

SPRING 

7T1[ho loves the spirit of the woods 
^^ Or understands their changeful moods ; 
The vibrant life of early spring, 
The green aroused on everything, 
Where trilling from the tree-tops tall 
The birds send forth their madrigal, 
The very mold beneath the feet 
Sends forth a subtile fragrance sweet. 
Life, life, is moving everywhere 
And comes with every breath of air. 
Each spirit answers to the call: 
This priceless gift is free to all, 
Free as the sun that shines to bless, 
Free as the zephyr's soft caress. 

From nature, lavishly there pour 
Rich blessings in an endless store 
Where flow the trickling woodland brooks, 
From out the moss in quiet nooks, 
The sweet Arbutus opes her flowers 
Beneath the sun's first warming hours. 
And sends the fragrance of her voice: 



"The spring has come! Rejoice! Rejoice!' 
Bright on the pines the sunbeams play, 
The maples hide their tints of gray 
And stand in vivid scarlet drest 
To woo the robin in her nest. 
Each quiet nook and sunny space 
Shows an alluring eager face 
For nature's beings everywhere 
Admit the magic of the air. 



SUMMER 

How still the woods in summer lie 
Beneath the sun's fierce sultry eye. 
But when night's cooling shade comes on 
Their pensive quietness is gone, 
^olian harps the breezes tune 
Among the tree-tops, where the moon 
Casts over all her silver light 
To brighten somber shades of night. 

In darkened spots what spirits wait 
Where light hath failed to penetrate! 
Fantastic forms and shapes they seem. 
Yet vanish if a single beam 

81 



Of light creeps to their hiding-place 
To show — but quiet, empty space. 
Yet still upon the silent air 
They trip their dances everywhere, 
And eagerly each darkened spot 
Is searched to find that which is not 
To human erring sight. But they. 
Elusive, take their mocking way 
To murmur in the waiting ear 
Strange whisperings one may not hear. 
Though quick he turns the startled head 
He finds the witching spirit fled, 
With ne'er a form nor proof behind 
To greet the active, searching mind. 

What are these spirits of the wood. 
That man has never understood? 
All through the night in quiet woods 
They play their pranks in sportive moods, 
And hide behind each darkened tree 
To mock the passer-by, when he 
Alarms himself at twigs that break 
And thus the ghostly echoes wake. 
The spirits catch the startling sound 
And toss it past him with a bound, 

82 



Until he flies in dread to hear 
Such witchlike noises in his ear. 
They gaily dance among the trees 
And gambol with the passing breeze 
And mock the hoot owl passing by 
With human infant's wailing cry. 
They sportive play and revel make 
Until the morn begins to break 
And then the light reveals the wood 
In all its silent solitude. 
And peaceful, most alluring fair 
In the inviting morning air. 
Its quiet charm is all its own; 
The spirits of the night have flown. 



AUTUMN 

The glimmering sun with slanting beams 
Through baring boughs sends golden gleams, 
And lights the wood with luster rare. 
Then mellow fragrance fills the air 
From fruitage of the ripened year. 
And tuneful fall proclaims good cheer. 
Here, safely gathered ripened sheaves; 
There, rainbow-hued October leaves. 



83 



The trees an added strength betray 
Out-garnered from each summer day 
Of heat and showers and grateful dew 
To fare the winter bravely through. 
Serene and bright their gray bark shines 
Amid the verdure of the pines 
That towering heavenward, lifted high, 
The message bright catch from the sky, 
Reflecting in their changeless dress 
The Love that ever shines to bless. 

Come with me to the gladsome wood 
And learn of something great and good. 
With whir of wing, with startled eye 
A woodcock flashes wildly by 
With constant faith in nature's power 
To guard him thus in fearsome hour. 
He quickly drops amid the brush 
Nor moves to break the listening hush. 
Have they, the living of the wood. 
Learned more than man has understood? 
Forgetting self to touch the spring 
That moves with life each living thing? 
How can Intelligence then prove 
A better way wherein to move 



84 



Than keeping closely to this Power 
To learn these secrets every hour? 



WINTER 

Strong, cold, enwrapped in glistening snow, 
Their life sap buried far below, 
The woods defy each wintry blast 
That sweeps amid them fierce and fast. 
Like howling demons through their limbs 
Or grand, majestic funeral hymns. 
The Storm King throws his challenge out; 
His whirlwinds toss the trees about. 
They, moaning, writhe and bend each way, 
Their outer branches wildly sway 
In rhythm weird and tempest's glee, 
That shouts in keenest ecstasy 
Until the darkened heavens quake. 
And down the drifting storm clouds shake 
Tremendous sighs and groans that sound 
Like rumbling drums, as, bound on bound, 
They leap like tyrants in their power 
Then burst and scatter out a shower 
Of hissing screams that cut the air 
To voice a depth of wild despair. 



85 



Now with a lull they murmur low 
And breathe unutterable woe, 
Soft, tremulous, and far and faint 
Protests the broken, pleading plaint 
Far in the distance vanishing 
A mystical and witchlike thing. 

Then with a sudden furious rush 
Shrieks back upon the sudden hush 
A blast that voices louder still 
Its triumph and unvanquished will. 
What power the mighty tempest wields! 
Before its strength the strongest yields 
And bends like reed before its sway 
When roars the storm like fearful prey. 

But when its rage is spent and done 

And shines the bright benignant sun 

Upon the quiet of the wood, 

Fair nature smiles serene and good, 

Because obedient to that Will 

That silent bids it: "Peace, be still." 



86 



CHEERFUL LAMPS 

'T^ atydids and crickets here 

'*-^ Keep up a din, 

And from out the thickets near 

Where they'd crept in, 
Fireflies are flashing out. 
Dancing Hke the elves about 

Each Httle flame. 
See them quickly come and go 
While I vainly long to know 

What is their game. 

Happy they must surely be, 

Gay little sprites; 
Flitting so, so merrily 

On summer nights. 
Silent ! not a voice have they. 
Nor another choice but play 

Without a sound. 
Every one a tiny lamp 
Glowing, flashing 'mid the damp 

Darting around. 

Ho ! you little fireflies 
What do you see? 

I -■■ 87 



You are surely very wise 

It seems to me, 
Carrying your lamps along 
So you may not travel wrong 

When 'tis so dark. 
Flowers bloom when days are bright, 
You ne'er open in the light 

Your flowery spark. 

Here, and there, and everywhere 

Flash, flash you go. 
In the damp and dewy air 

How burn you so? 
Instant here and then afar 
Like a brightly gleaming star 

Shining on me. 
What! has something gone awry — 
One I miss, he's ceased to fly — 

Where can he be? 

Oh, you little struggling one 

Down in the grass. 
Hurt perhaps and quite undone, 

I fear. Alas! 
Carefully I'll rescue you 
From the chilly drenching dew. 



My! how you squirm! 
Why! you're not a firefly 
StruggHng in my hands so spry! 

You're a glowworm. 

Creep away, you tiny mite, 

Feebly and slow. 
Sending forth your yellow light 

Pale as you go. 
Join your comrade fireflies. 
Make men ope their wondering eyes 

As free you give 
Sparkling lights the nights to bless, 
Giving them bright cheerfulness 

Long as you live. 



A FITTING NAME 

Were I to give a truer name 

To any butterfly 
I'd call it something much the same — 

I'd call it flutter-by. 

—M. G. K. 



SIGNS OF RAIN 

a LITTLE elf in a jacket red, 
He slapped his knee, and he bobbed his head 
And said to his wife, he said, said he: 
"It surely must rain quite soon. I see 
The leaves of the ash are upside down; 
There's a whirl of dust on the road to town — 
Went opposite way the sun has gone — 
We'll surely have rain before the dawn." 

The stars hid away at the fall of night. 

The moon gave never a bit of light 

And the tree-toads called from tree to tree: 

"It is going to rain, we can plainly see." 

The lightning flashed where the stars had been. 

And the thunder crashed where the moon crept in 

From the rain that quickly came with a dash 

On the thirsty earth and the road splash, splash. 

But the little elf in his jacket red 
Went out for a walk without hat on head 
And was caught in the shower before he knew 
And it soaked his raiment through and through. 



90 



Then he hurried home at a rapid pace, 
But said to his wife with an odd grimace: 
"When the signs are right for rain, I say, 
One can take a bath almost any day." 



A SONG OF GLADNESS 

^OliNG a song of gladness, 
•^""^^ Wear a happy smile. 
Laugh away all sadness, 

That's the proper style. 
Start it in the morning 

Soon as day is light ; 
Every trouble scorning — 

Keep it up till night. 
When the day is dreary 

Sing it loud and clear ; 
No one will be weary 

Of a song of cheer. 
People will be singing 

Joining in the song. 
Setting echoes ringing 

All day long. 



-M. G. K. 



91 



OLD FRIENDS GROW DEAR 

/^ LD friends grow dear and dearer yet, 
^-^ Their presence brings no vain regret. 
Each truth in us they fondly see 
With friendship's loving loyalty. 
So many years faith's seal hath set 



We would not break it, nor forget | 
The days that passed so happily 
And brought the heart-unlocking key : 

Old friends grow dear. j 

'■« 

Amid new scenes our friendship's debt ' 

Unmeasured is. Then fondly let | 

Our hearts grow young again to be :| 

Once more in that dear company, 

The while we feel with eyes dew-wet, j 

Old friends grow dear. ] 



92 



LARKSPUR 

I^H, LOVELY flowers tossing high 
^^ Your spires of shaded blue, 
To sport with zephyrs passing by 

And smile from dew to dew! 
As bright amid the green you sway 

All graceful in the sun, 
The butterflies flit down each day, 

To greet you one by one. 



Oh, light as thistledown they drift. 

So beautiful, so free. 
While petals frail you gently lift. 

Sweet faces, modestly. 
Oh, blooms of blue, oh, wings of gold, 

Could breath of summer air, 
A more bewitching beauty hold 

To grace a garden fair? 



Dear Larkspur, answer me to-day 

The thing I long to know 
While through the trees the breezes play 

And murmur, murmur low. 

93 



Pray tell me, Larkspur, can you see 
From out your countless eyes? 

And will you tell confidingly 
How I can be as wise? 



Oh, voiceless life! Nay, whisper swells ] 

A thought I know divine, j 

And to my inmost heart it tells j 

Your creed — ^the same as mine ! | 

No questionings ! To do and be 1 

A part of all the Good, j 

To meet each moment joyfully ! 

Since fully understood. ] 



DAILY BREAD 

•^tJ'o-DAY I'll give what good I have, 
^^ Nor think about to-morrow, 
Content to know my sure supply 

Will come. I need not borrow. 
Because I sow the best I have 

And keep on planting daily, 
My daily harvest will be rich. 

My sheaves I'll carry gaily. 
—M. G. K. 
94 



MY GARDEN'S GUEST 

"T^ERE, in my little garden plot, 
^ On walks of velvet grasses, 
Grow sprays of dear forget-me-not 
To please her as she passes. 

The purple iris, royal bloom, 

In regal ranks is showing, 
And on the air its rich perfume 

The gentle breeze is blowing. 

And pink and blue the columbines 
Have ope'd with springtime weather, 

And buttercups and eglantines 
Are smiling close together. 

The birds outpour their sweetest songs 
From bending trees above it. 

And honey-bees in eager throngs 
Come, too, because they love it. 

The bridal wreath shows double rows, 

A happy omen truly; 
It whispers, "Courtship's near its close, 

ril wreathe the bride's brow duly." 

95 



The lilacs nod, the tulips raise 
Their cups to greet her sweetly, 

And lily-of-the-valley pays 
Its tribute here discreetly. 

And down each perfumed winding walk 

She passes like a fairy 
With gentlest cadence in her talk 

And steps so light and airy. 

Oh, sweet my garden was ere she 
I took to wander through it 

But now it breathes more fragrantly 
Than e'er before she knew it. 



WEALTH 

OHE golden-rod 
May wave and nod 
To show its pleasant charms; 
But does its gold 
Upon the wold 
Distinguish gilt-edged farms ? 

—M. G. K. 
96 



DEC 27 1909 



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